REESE  LIBRARY 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA. 


7*3 

Class    £X^ 


T-v-^c-ur^rsrv, 


POEMS  OF  ITALY 


This  edition  is  limited  to  two  hundred 

and  fifty  copies,  numbered  and 

signed  by  the  author. 

Number.  ^^7 


U'fiiv 


POEMS  OF  ITALY 

SELECTIONS 

FROM  THE  ODES  OF 
GIOSUE    CARDUCCI 

TRANSLATED,   WITH    AN    INTRODUCTION, 
BY 

M.  W.  ARMS 


IIS^ 

^aST 

J^IIL 

G*55X 

f^fcS^Srsl? 

THE  GRAFTON  PRESS 

NEW  YORK 


Copyright,  1906,  by 
The  Grafton  Press 


RE5Sg 


K.  W.  A. 


161925 


Contents 


PAGE 


Giosue  Carducci,        ....  9 

Before  the  Old  Castle  of  Verona,  .  23 

On  the  Death  of  the  Prince  Imperial,  25 

In  the  Piazza  of  San  Petronio,          .  28 

Miramar, 30 

To  Giuseppe  Garibaldi,      ...  34 

Rome, 37 

Notes, 39 


Giosue   Carducci 

THE  life  of  Giosue  Carducci,  the  foremost 
of  living  Italian  poets,  spans    an  epic 
period.     He  was  born    in   1835,  when 
Italy  was  indeed  little  more  than  a  "geographi- 
cal expression,"  an  aggregation  of  states  sepa- 
rated from  each  other  by  wide  differences   in 
customs    and    even   language,    united   only   by 
common  suffering  under  foreign  tyranny.     He 
is  alive  to-day,  when  the  seemingly  impossible 
fusion  of  these  states  has  become  an  accom- 
plished fact,  and  the  kingdom  of  Italy  is  free  not 
only  as  Napoleon  III    promised  it  should  be, 
"from  the  Alps  to  the  Adriatic,"  but  from  the 
Alps  to  the  extremest  tip  of  Sicily,  and  from  the 
Adriatic  to  the  Mediterranean. 
I     It  would  hardly  be  possible  for  any  man  of 
I  strong  feeling  and  quick  imagination  to  have 
1  lived  through  such  a  struggle  as  that  for  Italian 
.1  unity  without  having  his  character  deeply  influ- 
enced thereby.    Carducci,  moreover,  was  brought 
up  in  an  environment  and  amid  circumstances 
that  still  further  tended  to  breed  in  him  a  pecu- 
liarly passionate  love  of  country  and  hatred  of 
foreign  domination.    His  father  was  a  physician 
9 


in  the  Government  service,  but  a  devotee  of  Man- 
zoni  and  an  ardent  Liberal.  He  had  suffered 
imprisonment  as  a  "Carbonaro"  after  the  in- 
surrectionary movement  of  1831,  and  he  only 
awaited  an  opportunity  again  to  identify  himself 
with  the  revolutionists.  This  opportunity  offered 
itself  in  1848,  and  his  active  participation  in  the 
events  of  that  and  the  following  year  led  to  the 
loss  of  his  position.  The  family  moved  to  Flor- 
ence in  consequence,  and  there  Giosue  was  sent 
to  the  Scolopi  Fathers  to  school. 

The  war  of  1848-49  left  an  indelible  impres- 
sion on  the  boy's  mind.  Austria  had  been  braved 
by  the  little  kingdom  of  Sardinia,  and  though 
disaster  and  defeat  had  followed  the  gallant 
demonstration  against  the  foreigner,  yet  through 
all  Italy  a  long  awakening  breath  had  been 
drawn.  In  the  eager  young  student  of  these 
days,  whose  first  fourteen  years  had  been  passed 
in  the  midst  of  the  melancholy  and  suggestive 
charm  of  the  Tuscan  "Maremma"  (fens),  who 
had  learned  Latin  at  his  father's  knee,  and  at 
his  mother's  the  tragedies  of  Alfieri  and  the  revo- 
lutionary poetry  of  Berchet,  we  may  find  a 
prophecy  of  the  man.  Impetuous,  bitterly  im- 
patient of  shams  of  any  kind,  with  a  devouring 
10 


passion  for  books,  an_arcknt  worship  of  the  great 
K  \  t  classic  writers  and  of  those  modern  Italian 
I  [  authors  who  dreamed  a  new  life  for  Italy — such 
Carducci  showed  himself,  during  these  four 
years  in  Florence,  to  his  companion  Chiarini, 
who  in  his  turn  has  drawn  the  portrait  for  us.* 
An  incident  that  occurred  a  little  later,  while 
Giosue  was  studying  at  the  Normal  School  of 
Pisa,  throws  further  light  on  his  character. 

In  the  summer  of  1855,  a  severe  epidemic  of 
cholera  broke  out  at  Pian  Castagnaio,  the  little 
village  where  the  Carducci  family  was  then  set- 
tled. Giosue,  home  for  his  holidays,  instantly 
laid  aside  his  books  and  his  writing,  and,  aided 
by  his  brother  and  two  acquaintances,  thr^w 
himself  with  enthusiastic  devotion  into  the  busi- 
ness of  caring  for  the  sick.  So  much  practical 
ability  did  he  display  that  the  Municipality  put 
him  at  the  head  of  a  commission  for  sanitary 
measures  and  public  assistance,  and  until  the 
epidemic  was  at  an  end,  late  in  September,  he 
gave  his  time  and  energy  to  the  work  entrusted 
to  his  hands.  "I  have  put  aside,  as  is  the  duty 
of  a  good  citizen,  the  meditative  life  for  the  ac- 
^  *See  "Impressioni  e  Ricordi  di  Giosue  Carducci," 
by  G.  Chiarini. 

II 


tive,"  he  wrote  to  a  friend  during  this  period, 
"which  latter,  as  our  great  Leopardi  teaches  us, 
is  more  natural  to  man  and  more  worthy  of  him 
than  the  other." 

The  next  year  saw  Carducci's  entrance  into 
the  literary  lists — an  entrance  which  was,  how- 
ever, anonymously  made.  A  short  while  before, 
one  Gargani,  a  school  comrade  of  Giosue's  in 
Florence,  had  published  a  booklet  entitled  "  Re- 
marks on  the  Ultra  Modern  Poets"  ("Diceria 
su  i  poeti  odiernissimi"),  which  attacked  with- 
out mercy  the  servility  and  degradation  to  which 
poetry  had  been  reduced  by  the  verse-makers  of 
the  day.  The  "Remarks"  created  a  consider- 
able stir  among  Florentine  critics,  and  were 
assailed  with  every  sarcasm  and  opprobrious 
epithet  that  the  editorial  pen  could  furnish. 
Gargani,  however,  was  one  of  a  group  of  friends 
all  the  members  of  which  had  participated  in 
the  compilation  of  the  volume  and  were  eager 
to  defend  it  from  attack;  and  there  presently 
appeared  a  second  pamphlet  under  the  title: 
"Interest  on  the  Principle;  the  Pedantic  Friends 
to  the  Ultra  Modern  Poets  and  their  Defend- 
ers" ("Giunta  alia  derrata;  ai  poeti  odiernissimi 
e  lor  difensori  gli  amici  pedanti.")     The  four 

12 


sonnets  contained  therein  were  all  from  the 
hand  of  Carducci,  and  the  same  touch  is  dis- 
cernible in  much  of  the  main  discourse. 

That  same  autumn  (1856),  we  find  the  poet 
installed  as  Instructor  of  Rhetoric  in  the  Gin- 
nasio  of  San  Miniato  al  Tedesco.  While  there 
he  published  (1857)  his  first  volume  of  poetry— 
by  the  persuasion  of  one  of  his  friends  and  fellow 
teachers  and  for  the  sole  purpose,  as  he  himself 
tells  us,*  of  paying  his  and  the  said  friend's 
debts  for  lodging  and  at  the  cafe.  Soon  after,  he 
left  San  Miniato,  "and  the  "Verses'  remained 
exposed  to  the  pity  of  Franceseco  Silvio  Orlan- 
dini,  to  the  scorn  of  Paolo  Emilano  Giudici,  to 
the  insults  of  Pietro  Fanfani."  f 

Graver  responsibilities  now  devolved  upon 
Carducci.  In  1858  his  father  died,  and  he  was 
left  alone  to  support  his  mother,  a  sister,  and  a 
younger  brother.  Undismayed,  he  entered  the 
battle.  Florence  was  the  home  of  his  choice; 
there,  when  he  married  in  1859,  ne  brought  wife 
and    family;    there    he    studied,    gave   lessons, 

*In  that  charming  bit  of  prose,  "Le  'Risorse'  di 
San  Miniato  al  Tedesco." 
f  Writers  of  the  day. 

13 


edited  various  books  for  the  publisher,  Barbera, 
and  eagerly  kept  "his  ears  and  his  heart  open 
to  all  the  voices  that  seemed  to  give  hope  of  the 
speedy  liberation  of  Italy."* 

These  voices  during  1859  and  i860  grew  ever 
louder  till  they  swelled  into  a  mighty  chant  of 
triumph.  The  King  of  Sardinia  and  Piedmont, 
Vittorio  Emanuele,  declared  war  against  Aus- 
tria with  France  as  his  ally.  Tuscany  threw  off 
the  yoke  of  her  Grand  Duke  and  established  a 
provisional  government  of  her  own;  Parma  and 
Modena  followed  suit,  so  did  the  Papal  State  of 
Romagna;  finally  the  plebiscite  of  March  II, 
i860,  united  all  these  provinces  of  Central  Italy 
with  Piedmont.  In  the  same  year  came  Gari- 
baldi's triumphant  expedition  into  Sicily  and 
Naples;  Southern  Italy  was  added  to  Northern 
and  Central;  the  Papal  States,  except  Rome, 
were  conquered;  and  on  February  18,  1861,  the 
first  parliament  of  United  Italy  met  at  Turin. 
All  these  events  live  in  the  poetry  of  Carducci. 
"To  the  Cross  of  Savoy"  ("Alia  Croce  di 
Savoia"),  "Plebiscitum"  ("Plebiscite"),  "The 
Rock  of  Quarto"  ("Scoglio  di  Quarto"),  are 
examples  of  a  collection  that  forms  a  lyric  epit- 
*Chiarini. 
14 


ome  of  the  Italian  struggle,  from  the  first  faint 
dawn  to  the  golden  morning. 

But  the  making  of  Italy  was  not  to  be  com- 
pleted, perhaps  naturally,  as  gloriously  as  it  had 
been  commenced.  Carducci,  who,  when  Vit- 
torio  Emanuele  first  flung  down  the  gauntlet  of 
defiance  before  Austria  vhad  hailed  the  Piedmont- 
ese  king  as  the  hero-liberator  of  his  country, 
watched  with  small  patience  the  dairyings  and 
pettiness  displayed  by  the  monarchical  party 
after  its  accession  to  power.  The  transference 
of  the  capital  from  Turin  to  Florence,  with  the 
implied  abandonment  of  Rome,  was  the  first 
blow  to  his  loyalty.  The  acceptance  of  Venice 
from  the  hands  of  France,  the  treatment  in- 
flicted on  Garibaldi,  the  long  delay  that  inter- 
vened before  the  Government  could  be  driven, 
with  manifest  unwillingness,  finally  to  occupy 
Rome — all  these  political  intrigues  and  calcu- 
lations were  abhorrent  to  the  poet.  He  had 
been  given  the  Chair  of  Italian  Literature  at  the 
University  of  Bologna  in  i860,  and  had  moved 
to  that  city  in  consequence.  Gradually  he  be- 
came affiliated  with  the  Republican  party  there, 
and  the  poem  "After  Aspromonte,,  ("Dopo 
Aspromonte,,)>  written  in  1863,  put  the  seal  upon 
IS 


his  change  of  political  creed.  In  1868,  he  was 
suspended  from  his  professorship  on  account  of 
the  part  he  had  taken  in  an  address  sent  to 
Mazzini,  but  so  great  was  his  popularity  in  Bo- 
logna that  the  suspension  was  of  short  duration. 
In  1871,  appeared  a  volume  entitled  "Poems  of 
Giosue  Carducci"  ("Poesie  di  Giosue  Carduc- 
ci"),  but  his  name  only  came  into  wide  promi- 
nence with  the  publication  in  1873  of  the  "New 
Poems"  ("Nuove  Poesie").  The  "Barbaric 
gj  Odes"  ("Odi  Barbare"),  the  first  of  which 
appeared  in  1877,  completed  the  establishment 
of  his  fame  in  Italy — a  fame  which  ever  since 
has  been  steadily  increasing  and  spreading  be- 
yond the  confines  of  his  own  land.  In  1887,  the 
poet  was  offered  the  newly  instituted  Dante 
Chair  at  the  University  of  Rome,  but  declined 
the  honor  in  order  to  remain  in  Bologna — to 
which  city  he  had  become  by  this  time  intimately 
attached,  and  in  which  he  still  makes  his  real 
home. 

In  glancing  over  the  record  of  Carducci's  life, 
as  reflected  both  in  his  acts  and  in  his  work,  one 
is  impressed  chiefly,  I  think,  by  the  unity  of 
principle  which  underlies  its  many  phases.  His 
poetry  and  prose  voice,  through  all  variety  of 
16 


I 


form  and  subject,  one  creed;  his  actions,  often 
contradictory  in  appearance,  spring  from  one 
source.  He  is  always  the  poet — the  challenger 
of  the  world's  smallnesses,  compromises,  hypoc- 
risies; the  seeker  after  the  beautiful,  the  high, 
the  true,  whether  found  in  king's  palace  or 
peasant's  hut,  in  Christian  church  or  pagan 
temple.  Because  the  Papacy  appears  to  him  a 
thing  of  corruption  and  tyranny,  he  turns  from 
the  dark  cathedral  to  the  boundless  purity  of 
the  open  air  and  the  arms  of  the  great  earth- 
mother.  Because,  in  the  early  days,  Vittorio 
Emanuele  presents  himself  as  the  symbol  of 
Italy's  salvation,  he  sings  the  Cross  of  Savoy; 
the  monarchy,  triumphant,  grows  careless  of  its 
ideals,  and  Carducci  passes  to  the  Republicans 
with  "After  Aspromonte;"  the  great  person- 
alities that  had  been  the  glory  of  the  Republican 
party  disappear,  the  standard  is  lowered,  and  he 
draws  near  once  more  to  the  throne  that  has 
been  sanctioned  by  the  people's  voice.  It  is 
with  spiritual  values,  not  with  external  forms, 
that  he  concerns  himself;  and  in  one  of  the 
prose  essays,  "Raccoglimenti,"  he  gives  us  the 
key  to  his  attitude. 

"The  poet  should  not  feel  himself  obliged  to 
17 


obey  certain  exigencies,  as  one  may  call  them, 
of  his  time.  Because,  if  the  harp  of  his  soul 
instead  of  vibrating  beneath  the  wing  of  the 
fleeting  Psyche,  instead  of  answering  to  each 
echo  of  the  past,  to  each  breath  of  the  future,  to 
the  solemn  murmur  of  the  centuries  and  of  pre- 
ceding generations,  allows  itself  to  be  caressed 
by  zephyrs  from  a  lady's  fan  or  soldier's  plume, 
shrinks  at  the  rustle  of  the  professorial  toga  or 
the  babblings  of  the  gazette — then  woe,  woe  to 
the  poet,  if  poet  indeed  he  be !  To  plant  one's  self 
at  the  window  with  every  variation  in  tempera- 
ture in  order  to  ascertain  what  garb  is  assumed 
by  the  taste  of  the  legal  majority  is  to  distract, 
to  chill,  to  fossilize  the  soul.  The  poet  should 
express  himself  and  his  moral  and  artistic  con- 
victions with  all  the  sincerity,  the  clearness,  the 
resolution  in  his  power;  the  rest  is  no  concern 
of  his." 

!&  £fg  *t»  *l£  *fc 


it 


T 


HE    following    half   dozen    poems    have 
been  selected  from  the  "Odi  Barbare,"* 


on  the  two  volumes  of  which  Carducci's 
fame  most  clearly  rests.     The  first  edition  of 
„  these  Odes  appeared  in  1877,  and  owing  to  cer- 
|  tain  metrical  innovations  gave  rise  to  a  storm  of 
!  discussion  among  the  critics.     Stronger,  how- 
ever, than  the  Italian  reverence  for  established 
I  form  is  the  Italian  responsiveness  to  beauty.     It 
was  recognized  that  the  Odes  presented  a  thor- 
>yj/  oughly  harmonious  whole,  however  unlawfully 
attained,  and  the  contest  ended  in  the  establish- 
ment of  Carducci  as  the  foremost  among  living 
Italian  poets  and  of  the  Odes  as  a  triumphant 
assertion,  not  only  of  his  maturest  poetic  thought, 
but  of  his  mastery  of  a  scheme  of  versification 
—  which,  on  first  consideration,  might  appear  some- 
what alien  to  the  genius  of  the  language. 

Of  the  wonderful  variety  and  beauty  of  this 
versification,  I  realize  that  my  translations  give 

*A  considerable  number  of  the  poems  of  Carducci 
have  already  been  translated  and  published  in  book 
form  by  the  Rev.  Frank  Sewall.  In  his  collection, 
however,  comparatively  few  of  the  "Odi  Barbare" 
find  place,  and  none  of  those  which  I  have  here 
chosen. 

19 


no  conception.  Because  the  originals  are  un- 
rhymed,  and  because  of  a  certain  gravity  and 
stateliness  in  their  metre,  I  have  uniformly  made 
our  English  blank  verse  the  instrument  of  my 
renderings.  To  do  so,  I  am  well  aware,  is  to 
incur  the  risk  of  monotony;  but  the  attempt  to 
reproduce  with  unskilled  touch  the  complex 
music  of  the  master  would,  I  believe,  be  even 
more  misleading  in  its  result.  In  the  single  case 
of  "Miramar,"  I  have  held  to  the  original  form 
to  the  extent  of  preserving  the  short  line  at  the 
close  of  every  stanza. 

It  may  be  that  the  accusation  of  sameness 
will  be  brought  against  the  substance  as  well  as 
the   structure   of  the   following   poems.      Car- 
ducci's  genius  has  an  extraordinarily  wide  range; 
it  is  satirical,  patriotic,  classical,  but  its  most 
;  characteristic  and  subtile  quality  is  its  impres- 
sionism— its     power    of    creating    atmosphere 
\through  the  medium  of  words.    This  quality  is 
apparent  to  a  greater  or  less  degree  in  all  our 
poet's  work,  but  chiefly  so  in  such  descriptive 
poems  as  those  which  are  here  selected.    "Mi- 
ramar," "Rome,"  "Before  the  Old  Castle  of 
Verona,"    are   not   specific   word-pictures,    but 
rather  poetic  evocations  of  the  significance  latent 

20 


in  castle,  campagna,  and  river.  And  because  it 
seems  to  me  that  this  interpretative  faculty,  this 
(  P°,yer  to  PIe?ent  "the  living  soul"  of  things  is  a 
peculiarly  precious  literary  attribute,  N I  have 
taken  for  translation  poems  that  offered  strik- 
ing examples  of  its  presence  without  regard  to 
the  fact  that,  in  substance,  they  nearly  all  be- 
longed to  one  type.  In  translation,  of  course, 
much  of  the  original  charm  must  be  lost.  One 
may  preserve  the  thought,  but  to  make  another 
language  recreate  the  same  atmosphere,  borders 
upon  the  impossible.  In  the  present  instance  I 
have  aimed  simply  at  being  as  literal  as  was 
consistent  with  the  chosen  form  of  verse,  trust- 
ing that  in  such  wise  some  virtue  of  the  original 
might  still  cling  to  its  English  rendering. 

M.  W.  Arms. 
Washington,  D.  C,  December,  1905. 


21 


Before  the  Old  Castle  of  Verona 

Green  Adige,  'twas  thus  in  rapid  course 
And  powerful,  that  thou  didst  murmur  'neath 
The  Roman  bridges  sparkling  from  thy  stream 
Thine  ever-running  song  unto  the  sun, 
When  Odoacer,  giving  way  before 
The  onrush  of  Theodoric,  fell  back, 
And  midst  the  bloody  wrack  about  them  passed 
Into  this  fair  Verona  blond  and  straight 
Barbarian  women  in  their  chariots,  singing 
Songs  unto  Odin;  while  the  Italian  folk 
Gathered  about  their  Bishop  and  put  forth 
To  meet  the  Goths  the  supplicating  Cross. 

Thus  from  the  mountains  rigid  with  their  snows, 
In  all  the  placid  winter's  silver  gladness 
To-day  thou  still,  O  tireless  fugitive, 
Dost  murmuring  pass  upon  thy  way,  beneath 
The  Scaligers'  old  battlemented  bridge, 
Betwixt  time-blackened  piles  and  squalid  trees, 
To  far-off  hills  serene,  and  to  the  towers 
Whence  weep  the  mourning  banners  for  the  day, 
Returning  now,  which  saw  the  death  of  him 
Whom  a  free  Italy  first  chose  her  king. 
Still,  Adige,  thou  singest  as  of  yore 
Thine  ever-running  song  unto  the  sun. 
23 


I,  too,  fair  river,  sing,  and  this  my  song 
Would  put  the  centuries  into  little  verse; 
And  palpitating  to  each  thought,  my  heart 
Follows  the  stanza's  upward-quivering  flight. 
But  with  the  years,  my  verse  will  dull  and  fade; 
Thou,  Adige,  the  eternal  poet  art, 
Who  still — when  of  these  hills  the  turret  crown 
Is  shattered  into  fragments,  and  the  snake 
Sits  hissing  in  the  sunlight  where  now  stands 
The  great  basilica,  St.  Zeno's  fane — 
Still  in  the  desert  solitudes  wilt  voice 
The  sleepless  tedium  of  the  infinite. 


24 


On   the   Death   of  the   Prince 
Imperial 

ONE,  the  barbarian  javelin  laid  low, 
Unwitting;  in  the  eyes  that  glowed  with 
life 
Extinguishing  the  smiles  they  seemed  to  catch 
From  phantoms  floating  in  the  azure  vast. 

The  other,  vainly  drugged  with  kisses  'neath 
His  Austrian  plumes,  and  in  the  frozen  dawns 
Dreaming  reveilles  and  the  warlike  roll 
Of  drums, — bent,  like  a  pallid  hyacinth. 

Far  from  their  mothers,  both;  the  silken  curls 
With  childhood's  brightness  on  them,  seem  to 

wait 
The  furrow  that  is  left  by  the  caress 
Of  the  maternal  hand.    But  now  instead 

They  are  cast  into  darkness,  these  young  souls, 
With  none  to  comfort;  neither  follows  them 
Their  country's  tribute,  sounding  at  the  grave 
The  notes  of  love  and  the  high  strain  of  glory. 

*5 


Not  this,  O  dark  son  of  Hortensia,* 
Not  this  your  promise  to  your  little  heir. 
For  him  you  prayed  before  the  face  of  Paris 
A  fate  far  different  from  the  King  of  Rome's. 

Sebastopol's  great  victory  and  peace 
Lulled  with  the  rustling  of  their  shining  wings 
The  little  one;   admiring  Europe  watched, 
And  shown  the  imperial  Column  beacon-bright. 

But  all  December's  mire  is  stained  with  blood, 
And  treach'ry  lurks  behind  the  Brumaire  fogs; 
No  bushes  can  take  root  in  such  a  soil, 
Or  else  bear  ashes  and  a  poisoned  fruit. 

O  lonely  house  on  the  Aiaccian  shore, 
Shaded  forever  by  your  great  green  oaks, 
With  hills  serene  about  you  like  a  crown 
And  at  your  feet  the  solemn-sounding  sea! 

'Twas  here  Letitia — fair  Italian  name 
Which  henceforth  in  all  ages  sounds  mischance- 
Was  happy  wife  and  mother  for,  alas! 
Too  short  a  time;  and  here,  O  Consult  here,— 

*Napoleon  III. 

fNapoleon  the  Great. 

26 


Launched  your  last  thunderbolt  against  the 
thrones, 

Given  to  the  people  your  concordant  laws — 

You  should  have  come  to  live  withdrawn,  be- 
twixt 

The  ocean  and  the  God  of  your  belief. 

Domestic  shade,  to-day  Letitia  haunts 

The  empty  house;    not  round  her  head  there 

played 
The  rays  of  Caesar — betwixt  church  and  tomb, 
Corsican  mother,  all  her  life  was  spent. 

Her  Son  of  Destiny  with  eagle  eyes, 
Her  daughters,  fair  as  the  resplendent  dawn, 
And  nephews  all  aglow  with  eager  hopes, — 
All  were  laid  low,  all  far  away  from  her. 

Corsica's  Niobe,  at  night  she  stands 
There  by  the  door  whence  from  baptismal  rites 
Her  children  issued  forth,  and  her  proud  arms 
She  stretches  out  over  the  savage  sea, 

And  calls,  and  calls — if  from  the  Western  shore, 
If  from  Britannia,  or  the  Land  of  Night  * 
No  one  of  all  her  tragic-fated  offspring, 
Wafted  by  death,  is  borne  unto  her  bosom. 

*  Africa,  where  the  Prince  Imperial  was  killed. 

27 


In  the  Piazza  of  San  Petronio 


D 


ARK  in  the  winter's  crystal  air  arise 
Bologna's  turrets,  and  above  them  laughs 
The  mountain-slope  all  whitened  by  the 
snows. 


It  is  that  mellowest  hour  when  the  sun 

His  dying  salutation  on  the  towers 

And,  Saint  Petronius,  on  thy  temple  sheds, — 

Towers    whose    battlements    the    broad-spread 

wings 
Of  many  passing  centuries  have  grazed, 
And  the  grave  temple's  solitary  peak. 

The  adamantine  sky  is  gleaming  cold 
In  its  refulgence,  and  the  air  is  drawn 
O'er  the  piazza  like  a  silver  veil 

That  lightly  brushes  with  caressing  touch 

The  threatening  piles,  whose  grim  walls  gather 

round, 
Raised  by  our  fathers'  mail-encircled  arms. 
28 


Still  lingering  on  the  mountain  heights,  the  sun 
Looks  o'er  the  scene;  and  languidly  his  smile 
Falls  with  suffusing  tint  of  violet 

On  the  grey  building  stones  and  on  the  dark 
Vermilion  brick,  and  seems  to  waken  there 
The  living  soul  of  vanished  centuries; 

And  wakens  in  the  rigid  winter  air 

A  melancholy  yearning  for  the  glow 

Of  spring-times  past,  of  warm  and  festal  eves, 

When  here  in  the  piazza  used  to  dance 

The  beauteous  women,  and  in  triumph  home 

Returned  the  Consuls  with  their  captive  kings. 

Thus  in  her  flight  the  Muse  is  laughing  back 
Upon  tljpverse  in  which  vaJn  longing  throbs 
For  all  the  antique  beauty  that  is  gone. 


29 


Miramar 

OMIRAMAR,    about    your    fair    white 
towers, 
Weary  with  weight  of  the  rain-burdened 
sky, 
Like  some  dark  cluster  of  ill-omened  birds 
Gather  the  clouds. 

O  Miramar,  against  your  granite  rocks, 
Grey-rising  from  the  grim  deeps  of  the  sea 
With  echoing  shriek  as  of  tormented  souls 
Thunder  the  waves. 

In  melancholy  shadow  of  the  clouds 
Stand,  keeping  watch  above  the  double  gulf, 
Turreted  cities  of  the  Istrian  shore 

Gems  of  the  sea. 

And  all  its  roaring  anger  still  the  sea 

Hurls  'gainst  the  rocky  rampart  whence  you  look 

Over  the  Adriatic  on  both  sides, 

Hapsburgian  hold. 

O'er  Nabresina  thunder  bursts  and  rolls 
Along  the  iron  coast;  and,  lightning-crowned, 
Distant  Trieste  through  a  mist  of  showers 
Raises  her  head. 
30 


Ah,  how  all  nature  smiled  on  that  fair  morn 
Of  April  when,  his  lovely  dame  beside, 
Forth  came  the  fair-haired  Emperor,  to  sail 
For  distant  shores. 

Upon  his  placid  countenance  there  beamed 
The  manly  strength  of  one  to  empire  called; 
The  blue  eyes  of  his  lady  wandered  proud 
Over  the  sea. 

Farewell,  O  castle  of  the  happy  days, 
Vainly  constructed  as  a  nest  for  love! 
An  alien  zephyr  toward  the  desert  ocean 
Bears  off  the  twain. 


With  kindled  hopes,  they  leave  the  halls  adorned 
With  chiselled  wisdom  and  triumphal  story; 
Dante  and  Goethe  to  the  castle's  lord 
Make  vain  appeal. 

A  sphinx  of  changeful  aspect  lures  him  on 
To  follow  in  her  path  across  the  sea. 
He  yields,  and  half-way  open  leaves  the  book 
Of  old  romance. 
3i 


Ah,  'twas  no  song  of  love  or  high  exploit, 
No  music  of  guitars  that  waited  him 
To  sound  a  welcome  in  the  Aztec  Spain! 
Long  on  the  air, 

What  is  that  wail  which  from  Salvor's  sad  Point 
Sounds  midst  the  raucous  sobbing  of  the  flood  ? 
Do  dead  Venetians  sing,  or  else  the  old, 
Old  Istrian  Fates  ? 

— "Ah,  Son  of  Hapsburg,  in  an  ill-starred  hour 
You  mount,  upon  our  seas,  the  fated  ship!  * 
Darkly  the  Furies,  by  you,  to  the  wind 
Shake  out  the  sails. 

See  how  the  sphinx  perfidiously  gives  back 
As  you  advance,  and  puts  on  other  forms! 
It  is  mad  Joan's  livid  look  that  fronts 
That  of  your  wife; 

It  is  the  severed  head  of  France's  Queen  f 
Grinning  at  you;  and  with  deep-sunken  eyes 
Fastened  on  yours,  'tis  Montezuma's  fierce 
Yellow-hued  face. 
*The"Novara." 
f  Marie  Antoinette. 

32 


While,  midst  dark  tufts  of  savage  plants,  un- 
stirred 
By  any  breathing  of  benignant  airs, 
Huitzilopotli  in  his  pyramid 

Sits  keeping  watch. 

Out  from  the  god  are  darting  livid  flames 
Into  the  tropic  night;  he  scents  your  blood, 
And   with   his  gaze   o'ersweeps   the  spreading 
main, 

Howling,  "Oh  come! 

"Long  have  I  waited;  the  ferocious  whites 
Destroyed  my  kingdom,  broke  my  temples  down, 
Gome,  self-devoted  victim,  nephew  thou 
Of  the  Fifth  Charles. 

"I  wanted  not  your  forebears  of  ill  fame, 
Rotten  with  vice,  consumed  with  royal  madness; 
For  you  I  waited,  you  I  pluck,  reborn 

Hapsburgian  flower. 

"And  to  Guatimozino's  mighty  soul 
That  reigns  'neath  the  pavilion  of  the  sun, 
I  send  you,  Maximilian,  that  are  strong, 
Beautiful,  pure!" 
33 


To   Giuseppe   Garibaldi 

November  3,  mdccclxxx. 

ALONE  rides  the  Dictator  at  the  head 
Of  the  advancing  mournful  band,  with- 
drawn 
Into  his  thoughts  and  silent;  round  him  earth 
And  sky  alike  are  leaden,  squalid,  chill. 


The  heavy  plashing  of  his  horse's  hoofs 
In  the  deep  mire  was  audible;   behind, 
The  cadenced  fall  of  footsteps  and  the  sighs 
Breathed  from  heroic  breasts  into  the  night. 

But  from  each  clod  livid  with  slaughter's  stain, 
From  every  blood-dewed  bush,  wherever  lay 
The  poorest  fragment  or  the  smallest,  torn, 
O  you  Italian  mothers,  from  your  hearts — 

There,  like  a  star  a  flame  sprang  up,  and  rose 
A  sound  of  many  voices  chanting  hymns; 
Far  in  the  background  shone  Olympic  Rome, 
And  through  the  air  a  mighty  paean  ran. 

34 


Mentana  saw  proclaimed  the  ages'  shame, 
Caesar's  and  Peter's  infamous  embrace; 
Thou  hast,  O  Garibaldi,  at  Mentana 
On  Peter  and  on  Caesar  set  thy  foot. 

O  thou,  of  Aspromonte  splendid  rebel, 

O  glorious  victor  of  Mentana  thou, 

Come  then,  and  tell  Palermo's  tale  and  Rome's 

Unto  Camillus  in  the  Capitol!" — 

Thus  a  mysterious  voice  of  spirits  ran 
Solemnly  through  the  Italian  sky  that  day 
When  all  the  vile  lamented  in  their  fright — 
Curs  that  shrank  cowering  from  the  avenging 
lash. 

Now,  Italy  adores  thee.    A  new  Rome 

Is  hailing  thee  her  latest  Romulus. 

Thou  dost  ascend,  divine  one;  round  thy  head 

There  cannot  come  the  silences  of  death. 

Over  the  common  gulf  of  little  souls 
Refulgent  art  thou,  by  the  ages  called 
Up  to  the  lofty  heights  and  councils  pure 
Of  gods  and  heroes  watching  o'er  our  land. 

35 


Thou  dost  ascend.    And  Dante,  looking,  says 

To  Virgil:  "Ne'er  a  nobler  hero  form 

Did  we  conceive  ..."     Then  Livy,  with  a 

smile, 
"  To  my  domain,  O  poets,  he  belongs. 

"Yea,  written  in  Italian  civil  story 
The  record  of  tenacious  daring  stands — 
Daring  that  had  its  root  in  justice,  reached 
To  loftiest  heights,  and  in  the  ideal  sought  light." 

Glory  to  thee,  O  father!    In  the  grim 
Shud'rings  of  Etna  breathes  thy  lion  heart 
And  in  the  whirlwinds  of  the  Alps,  let  loose 
Against  barbarian  foe  and  tyrant's  rule. 

Serenely  shines  from  thy  calm  heart  diffused, 
Light  in  the  sea's  blue  laughter  and  the  sky's, 
In  all  the  flowering  Mays,  and  o'er  the  tombs 
Of  heroes,  and  their  fair  memorial  marbles. 


36 


Rome 

ROME,  on  thine  air  I  cast  my  soul  adrift, 
To  soar  sublime;    do  thou,  O  Rome, 
receive 
This  soul  of  mine  and  flood  it  with  thy  light. 

Not  curiously  concerned  with  little  things 
To  thee  I  come;  who  is  there  that  would  seek 
For  butterflies  beneath  the  Arch  of  Titus  ? 

Do  thou  but  shed  thine  azure  round  me,  Rome, 
Illumine  me  with  sunlight;   all-divine 
Are  the  sun's  rays  in  thy  vast  azure  spaces. 

They  bless  alike  the  dusky  Vatican,, 

The  beauteous  Quirinal,  and  ancient  there 

The  Capitol,  amongst  all  ruins  holy. 

And  from  thy  seven  hills  thou  stretchest  forth 
Thine  arms,  O  Rome,  to  meet  the  love  diffused, 
A  radiant  splendor,  through  the  quiet  air. 

The  solitudes  of  the  Campagna  form 
That  nuptial-couch;  and  thou,  O  hoar  Soratte, 
Thou  art  the  witness  in  eternity. 
37 


O  Alban  Moutains,  sing  ye  smilingly 
The  epithalamium ;  green  Tusculum 
Sing  thou;   and  sing,  O  fertile  Tivoli! 

Whilst  I  from  the  Janiculum  look  down 
With  wonder  on  the  city's  pictured  form — 
A  mighty  ship,  launched  toward  the  world's  do- 
minion. 

O  ship,  whose  poop  rising  on  high  attains 
The  infinite,  bear  with  thee  on  thy  passage 
My  soul  unto  the  shores  of  mystery! 

Let  me,  when  fall  those  twilights  radiant 
With  the  white  jewels  of  the  coming  night, 
Quietly  linger  on  the  Flaminian  Way; 

Then  may  the  hour  supreme,  in  fleeing,  brush 
With  silent  wing  my  forehead,  while  I  pass 
Unknown  through  this  serenity  of  peace, 

Pass  to  the  Councils  of  the  Shades,  and  see 
Once  more  the  lofty  spirits  of  the  Fathers 
Conversing  there  beside  the  sacred  river. 


38 


Notes 

"Before  the  Old  Castle  of  Verona." 

Printed  among  the  "Odi  Barbare"  of  1889.  The 
castle,  before  the  frowning  walls  of  which  the  poet  is 
meditating,  stands  by  the  river  Adige — which  here 
flows  through  Verona — and  was  long  the  home  of  the 
great  Veronese  family  of  the  Scaligers.  The  Church 
of  St.  Zeno,  to  which  reference  is  made  in  the  last 
stanza,  is  noted  as  one  of  the  finest  examples  of  the 
Romanesque  in  northern  Italy. 

"On  the  Death  of  the  Prince  Imperial." 

A  superb  symphonic  presentation  of  the  whole 
Napoleonic  tragedy,  beginning  with  the  parallel 
drawn  in  the  first  four  stanzas  between  the  Prince 
Imperial,  son  of  Napoleon  III.,  and  the  King  of 
Rome,  son  of  the  first  Napoleon;  and  closing  with 
the  tremendous  portrayal  of  Letitia,  mother  of  the 
race — the  "Corsican  Niobe" — as  she  stands  with  her 
"proud  arms"  stretched  toward  the  "savage  sea," 
beyond  which  her  children  have  fallen.  In  the  sev- 
enth stanza  the  references  are  to  the  coup  d'ltat  of 
Napoleon  III.,  which  occurred  in  December,  1852, 
and  to  the  birth  of  the  Prince  Imperial  in  January 
(the  "Brumaire"  of  the  revolutionary  calendar),  1856. 
Very  characteristic  is  the  reproach  which  Carducci,  in 
the  tenth  stanza,  addresses  to  the  Great  Napoleon; 
39 


the  poet  would  have  had  the  Consul  put  all  aside 
when  his  true  work — the  humbling  of  the  thrones,  the 
giving  of  "concordant  laws" — was  done,  and  retire,  a 
second  Cincinnatus,  to  the  "lonely  house  on  the  Aiac- 
cian  shore." 

"In  the  Piazza  of  San  Petronio." 

One  of  Carducci's  most  delicate  bits  of  impression- 
ism. The  glamour  which  the  sun's  "dying  saluta- 
tion" sheds  on  the  grim  towers  and  solemn  church  of 
dark-turreted  Bologna,  hangs  like  a  golden  haze  over 
the  whole  poem;  and  in  the  last  stanza  one  may  feel 
the  intensity  of  the  poet's  yearning  for  that  antique 
beauty  which  has  vanished  with  a  vanished  time. 

"MlRAMAR." 

The  Chateau  of  Miramar,  from  which  the  Arch- 
duke Maximilian  of  Austria  set  out  on  his  ill-fated  ex- 
pedition to  Mexico,  is  situated  on  the  Adriatic,  not 
far  from  Trieste.  The  "double  gulf"  (third  stanza) 
consists  of  the  Gulf  of  Venice  and  the  Gulf  of  Trieste, 
which  form  practically  one  sheet  of  water;  and  the 
"turreted  cities  of  the  Istrian  shore"  (whose  names 
I  omitted  in  the  translation  as  unnecessary)  are  Mug- 
gia,  Pirano,  Egida,  and  Parenzo.  Huitzilopotli  (stan- 
za sixteen)  is  the  Mexican  god  of  war.  In  his  own 
note  to  the  original  poem,  Carducci  explains  the 
rather  obscure  allusions  which  occur  in  the  ninth  and 
40 


tenth  stanzas.  "Certain  recollections  of  the  Chateau 
of  Miramar  that  find  place  in  these  verses  perhaps 
need  elucidation,"  he  writes.  "In  Maximilian's 
study,  built  to  resemble  the  cabin  of  the  flagship 
'Novara/  which  later  carried  him  to  Mexico,  por- 
traits of  Dante  and  Goethe  are  to  be  seen  near  where 
the  Archduke  was  accustomed  to  sit  studying;  and 
there  still  lies  open  upon  the  table  an  old  edition  of 
Castillian  romances — rare,  if  I  remember  rightly,  and 
printed  in  the  Low  Countries.  In  the  main  hall  are 
engraved  a  number  of  Latin  maxims.  Memorable 
among  them,  because  of  the  spot  and  the  man,  are 
these:  "Si  Fortuna  juvat  cavete  10111,"  "Saepe  sub 
dulci  melle  venena  latent,"  "Non  ad  astra  mollis  et 
terris  via,"  "Vivitur  ingenio,  caetera  mortis  erunt." 

"To  Giuseppe  Garibaldi." 

Written  probably  on  an  anniversary  of  the  battle  of 
Mentana,  which  occurred  on  November  3d,  1867. 
"Peter  and  Caesar,"  of  course,  represent  church  and 
empire  leagued  together  against  Italy,  who  is  strug- 
gling to  throw  off  the  yoke  of  both. 

"Rome." 

The  asterisks  after  the  second  stanza  mark  four 
verses  which  I  have  omitted  from  my  translation,  be- 
cause they  consist  of  political  allusions  that  to  an 

.    41 


American  reader  could  mean  nothing.  For  the  rest, 
the  poem  requires  no  annotation.  The  original  is  one 
of  the  most  harmoniously  beautiful  compositions  in 
the  whole  range  of  modern  Italian  literature.  Only 
one  who,  like  the  poet,  has  looked  down  from  the 
Janiculum  on  the  "pictured  form"  of  the  Eternal 
City,  who  has  felt  the  wonder  of  her  grandeur  and 
the  immortal  loveliness  of  her  decay,  can  fully  realize 
how  exquisitely,  how  subtly  her  charm  pervades  each 
word  of  the  poet's  Ave.  The  essential  spirit  of  Rome 
is  there — of  that  Rome  who  is  as  truly  Mistress  of 
the  World  to-day,  in  her  empire  over  men's  hearts, 
as  when  of  old  she  ruled  their  lives. 


42 


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